Parting at Morning 1
"Vincent."
From his seat on the low, broad stool, he looked up at her, his eyes wide and dark within their azure halos. A flush still bronzed his cheeks and at the base of his throat his heartbeat was evident. His lips just curved in the expression that delighted her, an after-love expression that had, in these last few days, changed. Surprise and gratitude were giving way to assuredness, to ...
Yes. There it is. Her own breath caught short. Boldness. Faith. A flicker of exultation. It was thrilling.
For a long moment he held her gaze, then broke away with a sigh. His hands gripped his knees; his head bowed. He was leaving ... leaving in only minutes. The realization ripped through her.
Do not cry, Chandler. Not one tear.
Years of training let her speak with more confidence than she felt ... with more courage. "Before you have to go ... I have something for you." From her pocket, she pulled a small package, and taking his hand in hers, she placed it in his palm. "Three years ago ... tonight."
The amber light of guttering candles half-shaded his face. “Go on,” she said, when he had yet to move. “Open it.” The tissue paper rustled as he peeled back the layers. "It was my father's. Look inside."
She showed him how the pocket watch opened and showed him the tiny dials that marked not just the hours and seconds, but the day, the month, the phases of the moon.
"Listen." Smoothing his hair away from his forehead, tucking back the silken strands, she guided his hand to his ear. "It has an odd tick, a heartbeat almost. It's old, from my great-grandfather's family.” A heaviness of heart rose within her. Already she was bereft, but she went on, unwavering. “I know time Below is different, but I thought ... I thought you could have it to count the days ... the years of our life together."He clicked shut the cover and turned it in the candlelight, traced the engraving – a winging bluebird, a spray of stars – then closed his hand around it.
"Catherine," he said, his voice crumbling at the edges. "I don't want to be apart from you tonight of all nights. There are things I want ... things I need to tell you ... about ... after Winterfest ... when I ..."
Bending to him, lifting his chin, she kissed him – a slow, tender, sure kiss ... a deep and tasting kiss ... a kiss of understanding, of promise. Of time.
"Whatever it is, it will keep until you come home,” she said. “I’m here now, Vincent. Always."
Though the last messaging pipes ended well above their bedchamber – at the top of the sweep of stairs, at the entrance to their rooms behind the stained glass – the tappings grew loud, insistent. He leaned into her, his arms around her waist, his head pillowed at her breast ... her fingers tangled in his hair. Near the doorway, a candle sputtered out, then another. The hour would not be denied.
“I ... I have something–” He rose and from his dresser retrieved his offering folded in a scrap of dusky blue-grey velvet. "I discovered this on the journey I made with Mouse. I hope it will always remind you, Catherine ... that my heart ... my heart has found its home."
Pillars of dark, almost black, smoky quartz, in joined gradated spires, formed a faceted, castle-like shape. Deep within, a pale, ephemeral, mirrored wispiness – a phantom palace – floated. In the candlelight, it was beautiful, a fairy tale in the palm of her hand._________________
In the dining hall, there was a sense of grand adventure in the rumble and echo of excited chatter and well wishes, in the checking of lists and repeated instructions for the relief crew. Catherine stood with William, packing lunches into rucksacks, handing them out as the workers filed by. With handshakes and hugs around, laden with tools and packs, they were gone. Of the first detail, only Vincent and Mouse remained behind – Mouse intent, his brows knit, his hands expressive in the air, explaining Arthur’s care to Jamie.
“Father, did you see Olivia this morning?” Vincent asked. "Or Kanin?"
"Olivia? Is she–"
Father searched the room, a hopeful quirk to his eyebrows. The crowd had thinned after the crew's departure. Mary leaned at the entryway with an agitated Kipper and an indignant Geoffrey before her, her arms folded, a frown of dismay on her face. Sarah cleared the sideboard, packing leftover scones and muffins into tin keepers. and deep in conversation, their foreheads nearly touching, Lena and Brooke and Willa sat at a far corner table. Father's face fell.
"No. No, I didn't and Kanin ... left very early. Hours ago, Pascal said. A sentry saw him start out alone. I take it you made no ... progress ... with him last night?”
Vincent shook his head. “Perhaps the work ...”
“Yes, the work.” Father sighed, leaning heavily on his cane, both hands to its knob. “We can’t let Kanin ... go, Vincent. Watch over him.”
“I will. Try not to worry, Father. You will have enough to do here, with so many of us gone. And you must ... watch over Catherine for me.”
“If she will let me,” Father replied. He brightened as Catherine approached. “Perhaps she will join me in a game of chess!”
She linked her arm with Father’s. “Perhaps we should stick to childhood stories. That way, everyone wins.”
“Walk with me, Catherine?” Vincent lifted his pack and bedroll, offering her his free hand.
Father turned at the sound of animated argument and hurried to mediate between Mouse and Jamie. Mouse hopped from foot to foot, adamant that Arthur sleep under Jamie's covers, that he be free to roam about at will. Jamie muttered something no one could hear, but something everyone understood.
Vincent laughed as Father began a well-worn lecture of public health, germs and disease. “I will enjoy watching this relationship evolve,” he said. “It carries with it the promise of fireworks.”
“Have you seen fireworks, Vincent?” Catherine asked, as they entered the passage north.
“Oh, yes, but years ago. Sometimes we would hike to Yankee Stadium ... well, underneath it, and from a certain vantage point, I could see them. They were beautiful. And loud.”
“Like Jamie and Mouse?”
“Loud and beautiful. Yes.” Vincent tightened his grip on her hand. “Dominic told us what you have offered. Your generosity is appreciated, more than you know.”
“It’s the least I could do. And it’s something I can do.”
Around the curve of the corridor, alone now, they stepped into a darkened niche. Vincent shed his pack and pulled her close, nuzzling into her hair, breathing in her scent one last time.
“Promise me you will be careful,” she demanded.
He nodded once. “Know this, Catherine. I live for you. While I am away, you ... you must be careful.” His words were whispered at her ear, feathering the down of her skin as he cradled her face in his hands. His lips traced the scar she wore, his thumb brushing after ... along the now-fading memory, over her cheek to her parted mouth.
One last kiss ...
A guttural moan rumbled in his chest and he embraced her, one arm tight around her shoulders, the other low at her waist. And then he gathered his gear and swept away, too quickly out of sight.
“Be well, Vincent,” she said to the emptiness.
A clang and jangle reverberated in the tunnel. Moments later, Mouse careened past, tools clanking from a heavy belted harness, bags strapped to his shoulders, flying out from his arms.
“Back soon!” he crowed.
Catherine hoped that soon would be measured not in Mouse time, but in hers.
_______
Catherine passed William at the kitchen door. He was fuming, his hands parked on his ample hips, from heel to toe rocking forward and back ... forward again.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
He raised his arm and pointed with a shaking finger across the room, grumbling under his breath. Jamie and Father were busy with knives and a bowl of fruit. Arthur was perched between them on the long table, a china plate at his feet. With a little imagination, triumph could be seen in the raccoon’s masked eyes. He was being spoiled – Father and Jamie gleeful partners in it.
Struggling not to laugh, she pressed William’s arm back to his side. “Rebecca’s coming with a new batch of dining room candles. I passed Zach in the corridor. He's gone to help her carry them up.”
William blushed and hustled into the kitchen. A clatter of metal cook pots rang out as he cleared away his morning’s work.
“So, Jamie. Where will Arthur sleep?” Catherine joined them at their table.
“Wherever he wants, as long as it’s outside my blankets,” Jamie said. “That I meant. But probably with Father. You love the little thief, don’t you, Father?”
“Well, no one else must know. It would be ruinous to my reputation,” he said with a sheepish grin as he offered Arthur another grape, a chunk of melon, a slice of banana.
“You know what Arthur really likes?” Jamie said. “Marshmallows and maple syrup.”
“At the same time?” Catherine asked. “That has to be ...”
“Messy. Quite.” Father grinned. “Run ask William for the treats, won’t you Catherine? He won’t say no to you.”
“Uh uh. I want to stay on William’s good side. I’m trying to fit in down here,” Catherine said, only half-teasing.
“Peanut butter, then. He likes that second best.”
Catherine popped a grape into her mouth, capturing it between her teeth, and crossed her eyes.
“I take it that’s a no,” Father said, chuckling. “I’m ... ummm ... planning to arrange those stacks of books today,” he continued, in a careful, casual tone. “Would you two care to ... assist me?”
“Don’t say yes, Catherine. What he means is – will you carry out his instructions while he directs you from his chair. Isn’t that right, Father?” Jamie teased.
“The shelves are rather high any more, and the ladder ... my hip ...” Father looked from one to the other with a beseeching, helpless expression, a charming glint in his eye.
“I’ll stay and help you, Father,” Catherine said. “Right after coffee.”
“Ah, yes, coffee. I understand it is ... important.”
“Has Vincent been talking about me?”
“Oh, no, no, never.” Father smiled at her. “But I have seen him push his way to the front of the line some mornings. He certainly acted as if it were ... an emergency.”
“You tea drinkers just don’t understand.”
Father reached over to pat her hand. “I am coming to understand many things, my dear. Many things. I find that I learn something new almost every day now. And to think, I was once sure I knew it all.”
Jamie snorted at this remark; Catherine smothered a laugh. They tried not to look at each other – and failed. Father harrumphed and gathering Arthur up, carrying him like a kitten, he rose to leave.
“Women!” he said in a stage whisper, turning theatrically in the doorway. “Arthur, you must stick with me. You’ll live a much simpler life." But under his breath, he added, "though an emptier one."
Catherine turned to Jamie, still smiling. “You and Father have mended fences. He’s not concerned about you and Mouse any more?”
“He’s not, but now I am.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Catherine. How can I say this ... Mouse ... he’s ..." She shuddered, but her eyes twinkled. “Let’s just say, he needs some turning on the lathe. And then a good sanding.”
Catherine laughed all the way to the coffee table and back. “So tell me, how are your lessons with Isaac coming along? Do you like him?”
“Isaac's great! The lessons are hard, though. He really makes us work.” Jamie toyed with two spoons, leaning one against the other. “How much does he know, Catherine?”
“Isaac is a special person. Once he decides to trust you, he’ll never question you, I know that. After that night, when Vincent was ... when he helped me search ...”
Catherine winced at the recollection of his injuries, to his body, to his spirit ... at the accusation in Father’s eyes. Even now, years later, a sour queasiness rose in her throat at the thought. She hadn’t known then ... couldn’t imagine or understand the depth or breadth of their bond, of his commitment ... or what he would willingly risk. Swallowing against the memory, she struggled on.
“Isaac saw him clearly – the tunnel entrance too – and he’s never asked me to explain. When I set this up for you, told him what you wanted, he just nodded. He’d make a perfect Helper ... if we could recruit Helpers.”
“I guess he trusts us then. He’s taught us things to do in enclosed spaces, close up, by ourselves, but in teams too. He never tells us to run or yell for help. It’s like he knows ...”
“A part of him does know.” A vision took form, floating just out of her reach – a secret door sliding open, Vincent’s nod ... her hand outstretched to Isaac’s ...
“I’m supposed to go up top today,” Jamie said and the dream fell away. “This afternoon. Esther and Damien went on the first crew though, so it’ll be just Willa and me.”
Catherine grinned, bringing her coffee to her lips. “Damien, the lone man among the warriors of Scythia.”
“He loves it,” Jamie scoffed but with affection. “He’s good, and he believes ...”
“Believes in protecting Vincent,” Catherine acknowledged. “I will do anything to keep him from that suffering again. Anything.” Both women stared into that sad and frightening darkness. “He wasn’t happy to hear about your lessons.”
“I know. He just gave me The Look. I didn’t back down though, and he never actually said anything. But here’s the thing, Catherine. Here we are. Vincent’s leading a crew. He’s miles away. What are we supposed to do? What if something happens down here? Or what if we’re Above, doing whatever, and somebody needs help? It’s not just about him!”
Catherine nodded, understanding all of it. It was mostly about Vincent.
“This problem, up north ... do you think ... is it very dangerous?”
“It’s hard to say, Catherine. There were some ... ummm ... incidents ... years ago near the perimeter. Really bad ones. I wasn’t even born yet, but I’ve heard the stories. It’s best if we stop anyone outside from coming further in. And if it’s Topsiders ...”
“I know. Vincent couldn’t tell me which would be worse. It’s all bad, isn’t it?”
“Could be. But we can stop it. Kanin and Vincent and Cullen and Mouse together are genius. It’s just going to take time.”
“I think, sometimes ... it is so strange. They’re less than fifteen miles away from here, hardly an hour’s drive with heavy traffic. For them ... I mean, for us, it’s days of carrying and camping and complicated logistics.”
Jamie set her elbow on the table, propping her cheek on the heel of her hand. “Some of this has to be awfully hard for you, Catherine. Two worlds. All the secrets. The ... differences. Are you happy here?”
“I am.” Of that she was certain, but she searched her cup for a few moments, swirling the dark brew. “I want to be part of you,” she said, meeting Jamie's gaze. “On my own, not just when Vincent is here, not just because I’m ... with him. That’s going to take time, to develop a history ... my history. I’ve known you all such a short while.”
“If you ask me," Jamie said, "it feels like you’ve always been here.”
____________________
Helping Father was a dusty, strenuous job. So many books, so few shelves ... and Arthur insisted on inspecting each volume as it went in. Catherine climbed down the last time and fell into the chair nearest Father's.
“After this, where will you put all those books of Dad’s? Are you sure you really want them?”
“Oh, yes, indeed. Absolutely. He was interested in ancient history, didn’t you say? And Etruscan archaeology?”
“Father, tell me the truth. Have you ever met a book you didn’t like?”
He seemed to revel in the question. He steepled his fingers and tipped his head against the high back of his chair, the beginning of a smile on his lips.
Vincent shook his head. “Perhaps the work ...”
“Yes, the work.” Father sighed, leaning heavily on his cane, both hands to its knob. “We can’t let Kanin ... go, Vincent. Watch over him.”
“I will. Try not to worry, Father. You will have enough to do here, with so many of us gone. And you must ... watch over Catherine for me.”
“If she will let me,” Father replied. He brightened as Catherine approached. “Perhaps she will join me in a game of chess!”
She linked her arm with Father’s. “Perhaps we should stick to childhood stories. That way, everyone wins.”
“Walk with me, Catherine?” Vincent lifted his pack and bedroll, offering her his free hand.
Father turned at the sound of animated argument and hurried to mediate between Mouse and Jamie. Mouse hopped from foot to foot, adamant that Arthur sleep under Jamie's covers, that he be free to roam about at will. Jamie muttered something no one could hear, but something everyone understood.
Vincent laughed as Father began a well-worn lecture of public health, germs and disease. “I will enjoy watching this relationship evolve,” he said. “It carries with it the promise of fireworks.”
“Have you seen fireworks, Vincent?” Catherine asked, as they entered the passage north.
“Oh, yes, but years ago. Sometimes we would hike to Yankee Stadium ... well, underneath it, and from a certain vantage point, I could see them. They were beautiful. And loud.”
“Like Jamie and Mouse?”
“Loud and beautiful. Yes.” Vincent tightened his grip on her hand. “Dominic told us what you have offered. Your generosity is appreciated, more than you know.”
“It’s the least I could do. And it’s something I can do.”
Around the curve of the corridor, alone now, they stepped into a darkened niche. Vincent shed his pack and pulled her close, nuzzling into her hair, breathing in her scent one last time.
“Promise me you will be careful,” she demanded.
He nodded once. “Know this, Catherine. I live for you. While I am away, you ... you must be careful.” His words were whispered at her ear, feathering the down of her skin as he cradled her face in his hands. His lips traced the scar she wore, his thumb brushing after ... along the now-fading memory, over her cheek to her parted mouth.
One last kiss ...
A guttural moan rumbled in his chest and he embraced her, one arm tight around her shoulders, the other low at her waist. And then he gathered his gear and swept away, too quickly out of sight.
“Be well, Vincent,” she said to the emptiness.
A clang and jangle reverberated in the tunnel. Moments later, Mouse careened past, tools clanking from a heavy belted harness, bags strapped to his shoulders, flying out from his arms.
“Back soon!” he crowed.
Catherine hoped that soon would be measured not in Mouse time, but in hers.
_______
Catherine passed William at the kitchen door. He was fuming, his hands parked on his ample hips, from heel to toe rocking forward and back ... forward again.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
He raised his arm and pointed with a shaking finger across the room, grumbling under his breath. Jamie and Father were busy with knives and a bowl of fruit. Arthur was perched between them on the long table, a china plate at his feet. With a little imagination, triumph could be seen in the raccoon’s masked eyes. He was being spoiled – Father and Jamie gleeful partners in it.
Struggling not to laugh, she pressed William’s arm back to his side. “Rebecca’s coming with a new batch of dining room candles. I passed Zach in the corridor. He's gone to help her carry them up.”
William blushed and hustled into the kitchen. A clatter of metal cook pots rang out as he cleared away his morning’s work.
“So, Jamie. Where will Arthur sleep?” Catherine joined them at their table.
“Wherever he wants, as long as it’s outside my blankets,” Jamie said. “That I meant. But probably with Father. You love the little thief, don’t you, Father?”
“Well, no one else must know. It would be ruinous to my reputation,” he said with a sheepish grin as he offered Arthur another grape, a chunk of melon, a slice of banana.
“You know what Arthur really likes?” Jamie said. “Marshmallows and maple syrup.”
“At the same time?” Catherine asked. “That has to be ...”
“Messy. Quite.” Father grinned. “Run ask William for the treats, won’t you Catherine? He won’t say no to you.”
“Uh uh. I want to stay on William’s good side. I’m trying to fit in down here,” Catherine said, only half-teasing.
“Peanut butter, then. He likes that second best.”
Catherine popped a grape into her mouth, capturing it between her teeth, and crossed her eyes.
“I take it that’s a no,” Father said, chuckling. “I’m ... ummm ... planning to arrange those stacks of books today,” he continued, in a careful, casual tone. “Would you two care to ... assist me?”
“Don’t say yes, Catherine. What he means is – will you carry out his instructions while he directs you from his chair. Isn’t that right, Father?” Jamie teased.
“The shelves are rather high any more, and the ladder ... my hip ...” Father looked from one to the other with a beseeching, helpless expression, a charming glint in his eye.
“I’ll stay and help you, Father,” Catherine said. “Right after coffee.”
“Ah, yes, coffee. I understand it is ... important.”
“Has Vincent been talking about me?”
“Oh, no, no, never.” Father smiled at her. “But I have seen him push his way to the front of the line some mornings. He certainly acted as if it were ... an emergency.”
“You tea drinkers just don’t understand.”
Father reached over to pat her hand. “I am coming to understand many things, my dear. Many things. I find that I learn something new almost every day now. And to think, I was once sure I knew it all.”
Jamie snorted at this remark; Catherine smothered a laugh. They tried not to look at each other – and failed. Father harrumphed and gathering Arthur up, carrying him like a kitten, he rose to leave.
“Women!” he said in a stage whisper, turning theatrically in the doorway. “Arthur, you must stick with me. You’ll live a much simpler life." But under his breath, he added, "though an emptier one."
Catherine turned to Jamie, still smiling. “You and Father have mended fences. He’s not concerned about you and Mouse any more?”
“He’s not, but now I am.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Catherine. How can I say this ... Mouse ... he’s ..." She shuddered, but her eyes twinkled. “Let’s just say, he needs some turning on the lathe. And then a good sanding.”
Catherine laughed all the way to the coffee table and back. “So tell me, how are your lessons with Isaac coming along? Do you like him?”
“Isaac's great! The lessons are hard, though. He really makes us work.” Jamie toyed with two spoons, leaning one against the other. “How much does he know, Catherine?”
“Isaac is a special person. Once he decides to trust you, he’ll never question you, I know that. After that night, when Vincent was ... when he helped me search ...”
Catherine winced at the recollection of his injuries, to his body, to his spirit ... at the accusation in Father’s eyes. Even now, years later, a sour queasiness rose in her throat at the thought. She hadn’t known then ... couldn’t imagine or understand the depth or breadth of their bond, of his commitment ... or what he would willingly risk. Swallowing against the memory, she struggled on.
“Isaac saw him clearly – the tunnel entrance too – and he’s never asked me to explain. When I set this up for you, told him what you wanted, he just nodded. He’d make a perfect Helper ... if we could recruit Helpers.”
“I guess he trusts us then. He’s taught us things to do in enclosed spaces, close up, by ourselves, but in teams too. He never tells us to run or yell for help. It’s like he knows ...”
“A part of him does know.” A vision took form, floating just out of her reach – a secret door sliding open, Vincent’s nod ... her hand outstretched to Isaac’s ...
“I’m supposed to go up top today,” Jamie said and the dream fell away. “This afternoon. Esther and Damien went on the first crew though, so it’ll be just Willa and me.”
Catherine grinned, bringing her coffee to her lips. “Damien, the lone man among the warriors of Scythia.”
“He loves it,” Jamie scoffed but with affection. “He’s good, and he believes ...”
“Believes in protecting Vincent,” Catherine acknowledged. “I will do anything to keep him from that suffering again. Anything.” Both women stared into that sad and frightening darkness. “He wasn’t happy to hear about your lessons.”
“I know. He just gave me The Look. I didn’t back down though, and he never actually said anything. But here’s the thing, Catherine. Here we are. Vincent’s leading a crew. He’s miles away. What are we supposed to do? What if something happens down here? Or what if we’re Above, doing whatever, and somebody needs help? It’s not just about him!”
Catherine nodded, understanding all of it. It was mostly about Vincent.
“This problem, up north ... do you think ... is it very dangerous?”
“It’s hard to say, Catherine. There were some ... ummm ... incidents ... years ago near the perimeter. Really bad ones. I wasn’t even born yet, but I’ve heard the stories. It’s best if we stop anyone outside from coming further in. And if it’s Topsiders ...”
“I know. Vincent couldn’t tell me which would be worse. It’s all bad, isn’t it?”
“Could be. But we can stop it. Kanin and Vincent and Cullen and Mouse together are genius. It’s just going to take time.”
“I think, sometimes ... it is so strange. They’re less than fifteen miles away from here, hardly an hour’s drive with heavy traffic. For them ... I mean, for us, it’s days of carrying and camping and complicated logistics.”
Jamie set her elbow on the table, propping her cheek on the heel of her hand. “Some of this has to be awfully hard for you, Catherine. Two worlds. All the secrets. The ... differences. Are you happy here?”
“I am.” Of that she was certain, but she searched her cup for a few moments, swirling the dark brew. “I want to be part of you,” she said, meeting Jamie's gaze. “On my own, not just when Vincent is here, not just because I’m ... with him. That’s going to take time, to develop a history ... my history. I’ve known you all such a short while.”
“If you ask me," Jamie said, "it feels like you’ve always been here.”
____________________
Helping Father was a dusty, strenuous job. So many books, so few shelves ... and Arthur insisted on inspecting each volume as it went in. Catherine climbed down the last time and fell into the chair nearest Father's.
“After this, where will you put all those books of Dad’s? Are you sure you really want them?”
“Oh, yes, indeed. Absolutely. He was interested in ancient history, didn’t you say? And Etruscan archaeology?”
“Father, tell me the truth. Have you ever met a book you didn’t like?”
He seemed to revel in the question. He steepled his fingers and tipped his head against the high back of his chair, the beginning of a smile on his lips.
He's enjoying this game, Catherine thought.
“A book I didn’t like ... surely there was one. I will give that serious thought, Catherine, very serious thought,” he said as he closed his eyes.
“Are you going to sleep?”
“No, not at all. I'm just ... thinking.” Father folded his arms and settled in his chair. “Well, maybe just a short nap before supper.”
“Supper! Is it that late?” A day had passed, most of it, with Vincent gone from her, and the time had passed easily, companionably. She would stay for supper and enjoy the evening's entertainment, and then ...
Earlier Pascal had delivered the news to Father– the crew had reached the first destination, camp had been set, the late afternoon’s work had gone well.
And there had been a message for Catherine. Pascal passed it to her in private, calling her down from the ladder, waiting for her in the entryway – two lines written in his careful, cramped script on heavy ivory paper ...
We are such stuff as dreams are made on. 2
Sleep well tonight, Catherine.
V.
She missed him, but he knew that.
___________________
When the evening drew to its close, when the children who begged her to read to them took her third or fourth declaration of last one to heart, she found herself in Vincent’s chamber, their common room, as he called it now, the room they used for company, for meetings, for Vincent’s classes. Their rooms beyond the stained glass were private – as it had been for him, he wanted it for her, for the two of them – and though the secret door stood open now, always, no one ventured past his old chamber without an invitation.
It was the same – this room – filled with his furniture, his keepsakes ... his presence, his scent ... and she was soon lost in his treasures.
Here, she curled up in his bed, a pillow pulled close to hold. Here, on the anniversary of her first night Below, she slept alone. His voice came to her, dreamed and whispered, lulling her, and in the hollow of his memory, her day rounded with sleep. 3
There is none like her, none.
And never yet so warmly ran my blood
And sweetly, on and on
Calming itself to the long-wished-for end,
Full to the banks, close on the promised good.
None like her, none. 4
Click HERE for Chapter 3
“Are you going to sleep?”
“No, not at all. I'm just ... thinking.” Father folded his arms and settled in his chair. “Well, maybe just a short nap before supper.”
“Supper! Is it that late?” A day had passed, most of it, with Vincent gone from her, and the time had passed easily, companionably. She would stay for supper and enjoy the evening's entertainment, and then ...
Earlier Pascal had delivered the news to Father– the crew had reached the first destination, camp had been set, the late afternoon’s work had gone well.
And there had been a message for Catherine. Pascal passed it to her in private, calling her down from the ladder, waiting for her in the entryway – two lines written in his careful, cramped script on heavy ivory paper ...
We are such stuff as dreams are made on. 2
Sleep well tonight, Catherine.
V.
She missed him, but he knew that.
___________________
When the evening drew to its close, when the children who begged her to read to them took her third or fourth declaration of last one to heart, she found herself in Vincent’s chamber, their common room, as he called it now, the room they used for company, for meetings, for Vincent’s classes. Their rooms beyond the stained glass were private – as it had been for him, he wanted it for her, for the two of them – and though the secret door stood open now, always, no one ventured past his old chamber without an invitation.
It was the same – this room – filled with his furniture, his keepsakes ... his presence, his scent ... and she was soon lost in his treasures.
Here, she curled up in his bed, a pillow pulled close to hold. Here, on the anniversary of her first night Below, she slept alone. His voice came to her, dreamed and whispered, lulling her, and in the hollow of his memory, her day rounded with sleep. 3
There is none like her, none.
And never yet so warmly ran my blood
And sweetly, on and on
Calming itself to the long-wished-for end,
Full to the banks, close on the promised good.
None like her, none. 4
Click HERE for Chapter 3
_____________
(1) Chapter title - Robert Browning. Meeting at Night, Parting at Morning. 1849.
(2) William Shakespeare. from The Tempest. 1611.
(3) Ibid.
(4) Alfred. Lord Tennyson. from Maud, XVIII. 1854.
(1) Chapter title - Robert Browning. Meeting at Night, Parting at Morning. 1849.
(2) William Shakespeare. from The Tempest. 1611.
(3) Ibid.
(4) Alfred. Lord Tennyson. from Maud, XVIII. 1854.
11 comments:
You know, I loved the first version of this, and I didn't know how you could possibly improve on it. But you have, somehow. :)
I love the pocket-watch---would you believe me if I told you my dad has one very similar to it? It worked when I was a child, but now is in some serious need of repair. But I do remember it ticking, such a heavy thumping sound for all its size. ;)
I also loved the expanded interaction of Father and Arthur, of Vincent "the morning after"---I could just totally see it in my mind's eye. Great job, again. :)
Krist's right....it's even more beautiful. I saw everything so clearly that I felt I was there. I love the anniversary gifts. Carole you must never doubt that you are a writer of extraordinary talent. Thank you so much for keeping Catherine and Vincent's love alive for us.
jitterbug
Thanks you guys! I'm pleased you both think it's better now. And thanks for leaving comments too. The feedback is so welcome.
Krista, I was just waiting for our next bond-worthy coincidence. Yes I believe you! My dad carried a pocket watch too. I still have it.
Jitterbug, I'm so glad you could see the events more clearly. Your enjoyment of the story keeps my spirits up and my fingers to the keyboard.
The anniversary gifts were in the first version, but I think the photographs really help. It's hard to describe the castle-quartz without it sounding text-booky. I don't know how it will play out when it's published on Tunnel Tales and I can't have photographs there. I wish I could draw ...
hint, hint, anyone???
I really appreciate it when you all point out specific images that work (and of course, when they don't work, I need to know that too!) It helps me to know that I'm making the scenes clear and hopefully alive. That's what I want to do.
Chapter 3 needs my attentions next. It is way too short!
~ Carole
Hey Carole,
I'd talk to Lynn now and see if she can make an exception to the "no photos" rule on TT. It'd be a shame to lose the pictures once it goes over to CABB. ;)
Anyway, great chapter again. :) I'm looking forward to the revamp of Chapter 3 (and the publishing of Chapter 31<---hint, hint.)
Hi Carole,
Didn't mean to suggest I missed the gifts or that your story wasn't clear 1st time I read it - I just didn't comment until I had read the story so far. Can't wait for more! You're amazing and I hope that our paths cross someday.
jitterbug
LOL, Krista. I need to talk to Lynn about several things!
I didn't know there was an official no-photographs policy - I've never seen any and just figured ...
Jitterbug, no need to apologize! I understood what you meant. And I'm up for lunch any day! :-)
I'm really grateful for the comments along on the chapters and that you will go back and read again ... you all have a special place in my heart.
It's been so long since these early chapters were written that I've forgotten some of the details. I see places to add more foreshadowing now and situations that, with some attention to finer detail, will increase the dramatic factors. This editing is more fun than I'd expected!
BUT - Chapter 31 is pressing at me, demanding completion. I must obey ...
LOL, I didn't know there was a policy--I just figured from your comments that there was ;) So, ask Lynn :)
Anyway, I'm enjoying the revamp very much. :)
Wow... Krista is right: This is even better! That first bit is... yummy. (Yep, I save every chapter as well).
As far as I know, there shouldn't be a problem with pictures. I'd go ahead and ask lynn.
Love,
Vicky
Hey Vicky! I'm glad you like the additional scenes. Honestly, I can't wait to get my hands on all the chapters and fix them! And insert more gauzy scenes wherever possible!
~C
Carole, you did a great job revamping and adding to this chapter. Though there was nothing wrong with the first version, you've managed to make it even more enjoyable to read. Love the beginning, the things you added; love the scenes with Father and Author. Can't wait to read the rest of the chapters, but will read each as you finish their edit.
Email me any pictures you would like edited.
Thanks Sonia. It means a lot that you will reread this story. I will eventually rework all the chapters, making some of the too-short ones longer! and clearing out some deadwood too. I'm glad you like what I've done here.
~ Carole
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